


the power and glory are yours

by sinelanguage



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinelanguage/pseuds/sinelanguage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunger Games AU. Jean went in to win, but he never left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the power and glory are yours

**Author's Note:**

> Sami: urk. And now for something completely different.

Jean Kirstein went into the games wanting to win. It’s his chance at glory, his chance at showing it to the fuckers he beat out for District 4 tribute. He’d be lauded like his mentor, put on a pedestal for his district, and live a cushy life without a care in the world.

Out of all the careers of District Four, Jean had managed to win the position as tribute. Taking with him a shallow memento of his district- a small, carved pendant of a fish- Jean zoned the babble of his mentor out as his train rode off to the Capital.

It would be his last train ride, as Jean Kirstein didn’t come out of the games.

 

* * *

 

Training hadn’t been working for Jean. He’d thrown his javelin about fifteen times, each time missing the bullseye more and more. Finally, his javelin missed the target entirely, clattering to the ground.

Growling in frustration, Jean stalked over to his forlorn javelin, ignoring the cackling of the other tributes. After retrieving his javelin, positioning himself to toss it, and missing again, Jean cursed in frustration.

Before he could throw  his javelin again, one of the other tributes, a freckled boy from District 8, pulled him over by his sleeve.

“You’re not following through with your throw,” he said lightly, keeping the conversation quiet and trying to look inconspicuous. “When you toss the javelin, your wrist goes limp and you, well, miss the target.”

Jean pulled his arm away, straightening the fabric back down. “I don’t need your help,” he complained, but tried throwing the javelin with the boy’s advice. It nearly hit the bullseye.

The District 8 tribute laughed, and Jean glared at him. The glare didn’t seem to work, as the boy stretched out his arm for a handshake, “Marco Bott.”

“There’s only one winner in this, you know,” Jean said back, momentarily ignoring Marco’s hand, “Any team you make will just fall apart.”

The hand stayed. Jean reluctantly grasped it, “Jean Kirstein.”

 

* * *

 

Jean found out more than he wanted about Marco Bott before he went to the games. He had six siblings, one that had been in the games before. His favorite color was green, though he didn’t see it much in the industrial waste of District 8. His token was a pressed flower his mother had given him long ago, the colors worn out and the leaves crackling off.

Marco didn’t want to kill anyway; Jean had told him that’s a luxury they couldn’t afford. In reply, Marco just shrugged and said it’s a luxury he’d try to keep anyway.

 

* * *

 

Jean almost lost sight of Marco at the Cornucopia. Despite being a career and one who could stand the bloodshed, Jean left the prizes and fled off into the forest.

He found Marco later, followed by two others, a mousy looking girl who ranked surprisingly high but couldn’t be older than 13, and a short, dark-skinned boy who hadn’t even passed on Jean’s radar.

The two looked scared shitless, and it took Jean a while to realize that they were scared shitless of him.

“Marco,” Jean started, looking suspiciously at the two. The girl turned away, but the boy tried to keep his glare.

Ignoring any animosity, Marco pointed to the girl first, then the boy. “Sasha, and Connie. Meet Jean.”

Both glared warily, but it stopped when Marco pointed behind them and whispered, “And we’re teaming up, unless you want the careers that-a-way to find out where we are.”

 

* * *

 

By sheer dumb luck, at nightfall, they hadn’t met any other tributes. Sasha had been surprisingly competent at building a nest-like structure in a tree, and the four of them huddled in it and tried to stay hidden.   
  
The nest was small, and tensions were high. Connie and Sasha, despite the situation, bickered softly about how ‘Connie’s feet fucking smell, get them out of my face” or “It wouldn’t be a problem if your butt didn’t take up so much room.”

 _Children,_ Jean thought. _I am stuck with stupid-ass children._

Children that would have to die in order for him to win.

 

* * *

 

Morning came quicker than anybody wanted it. Instead of waking to sunrise, or at the least a warning sign, they wake to a blood-curdling scream. One of the careers- they couldn’t spot which one- had fired an arrow, shooting straight from below their nest and into Marco’s skull.

“Fuck,” Jean hissed as he tried to shake Marco’s shoulder. “ _Fuck_ \- Marco? _Marco_.”

There’s no response, and Connie and Sasha have already climbed out of the tree. Jean’s not far behind them, not even looking back.

He didn’t have time to go back and pickpocket Marco’s token from his pocket. Instead, it lay there, forgotten, decomposing with the rest of his body.

 

* * *

 

The three managed to scrape by until the next day. Sasha made another nest, smaller than the last. During the morning, the shots came. One, two, three, four, five. Marco Bott had been first to die that day.

Sasha looked solemn, in comparison to her normal look of panic. Connie didn’t complain that Sasha was practically huddled next to him, taking up most of the space.

 _Children_ , Jean chided again. He hadn’t said anything to them the entire day. _Children._

He didn’t think he was a child the entire games until now.

 

* * *

 

Jean didn’t sleep that night. He whittled a spear out of a branch, letting the pieces of bark fall to the ground. One, two, three, four, five pieces fell. He told himself he was preparing for the morning; he lied that he wasn’t prolonging nightmares of an arrow through his skull.

 

* * *

 

The group was found again, by the same career, but Jean had prepared all night for that. An arrow fired through the trees and into the nest, missing Connie by an inch. It came, just as last time, from below them.

With as much gusto as he could muster, Jean threw his spear from where the arrow came. There’s a screech, a thunk, and Jean knew he’d hit his target. Sasha and Connie looked over the nest to spot it.

It was a young girl, her black hair tied into two pigtails on the side. She wasn’t even a career; just a girl from one of the outer districts. Jean’s stake hit her through the stomach, pinning her to the ground to bleed.

Jean shoved Connie and Sasha out of the nest, trying to hurry out.

 

* * *

 

Connie died next.

Jean knew they’d been spotted; he could hear rustling footsteps and the snapping of twigs. He had tried to keep Connie quiet, but the boy quivered in fear and smashed his foot into a log.

It hadn’t taken long after that. Jean heard the scream before he saw Connie go down; he didn’t look back this time, either. He just grabbed Sasha and ran.

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly, their group didn’t shrink anymore. Instead, Jean found the last non-careers left, a pair from District 12.

Both had been suspicious of Jean and Sasha, but when Sasha offered to make them a camouflaged hide-out to rest, neither could resist.

Eren, the boy, looked most suspicious of Jean. He’d been a rare volunteer, offering to replace a frail, blonde boy who’d been put up first. Mikasa, the girl, had volunteered after him.

“Shouldn’t you be with the rest of them?” Eren had asked Jean pointedly.

Jean shrugged, “We’re all playing the same game, aren’t we? Does it really matter which side I’m on at this point? We’re all just fucking children.”

Mikasa looked at the sky, and Eren snorted in response. Then, giving Jean a manic grin, Eren whispered, “We’re not just playing the same game. We’re playing against the same game.”

Jean swallowed slowly, and turned his eyes to the sky.

 

* * *

 

Despite Eren’s remarks about playing against the same game, the careers still posed a threat. By morning, the group had taken down their campsite, hustling through the woods and hoping not to be seen.

It hadn’t worked; Sasha had noticed first, that someone was following them. She’d tapped Jean on the shoulder, and thrust her chin behind her.

They didn’t have anywhere to go, at this point. The four had come to a canyon, wider than any of them had seen before. The cliff edges hung over dauntingly, and if they tried to climb down they’d only make themselves bait.

They’d cornered themselves and set themselves up for slaughter. They didn’t have really have any option for escape, unless they managed to create a suitable distraction.

Jean didn’t bother looking back to confirm what Sasha had seen. Instead, he tapped Eren’s back, leaning over him to whisper, “Flip the sky off for me, will you?” Jean’s voice shook, and he knew he looked scared out of his wits. It was an ugly sort of scared, looking foolish and helpless.

Then, he backed into the woods, one step at a time. He counted them: one, two, three, four, five.

 

* * *

 

The winner of that year’s Hunger Games had been a District 1 tribute with dead eyes by the name of Annie Leonhart. By the time of the next games, Jean Kirstein’s name had been long forgotten.


End file.
